I fucked up, guys

This

She wants to fuck a decent amount and sorta assumes I accept collect calls and direct instructions from my own dick... So she's coming onto me all the time, and I'm pushing her off. No matter what. She seems to be pretending she's forgotten about the whole accusation of lying, because she can't seem to parse the notion that I would not want to fuck her. After a while I get tired and blame it on childhood trauma, when truth be told I would fuck her if I had Spacejew's dick and Twerk was gonna be pushing.

She grossed me out a little more each day, and I began to see how slovenly and lazy she was, from the mess of toothpaste on the sink each morning and eve to the dishes I clean again and again, alone after paying all the rent and buying all the expendables/groceries/utilities/clothing/etc. It peaks, for me, when I realize I have become appalled by her body's natural scent. This is new for me, I've always loved my partner's sounds, smells, snores, tics, quirks... every time I cared for someone they grew on me.

Now, tho? I care for someone I also am repelled by, and I am being torn apart.

I start having to hide my anxiety meds - Xannies. I have to hide my beer or wine - she'll kill a bottle of wine in a blink, then sorta change into another person for half an hour before falling down. Sometimes her schizophrenia breaks through and fucked up weird shit comes outta her mouth that I won't repeat. Nonsense and foulness.

We had had a joint account with 2 ATM cards that I kept $800 in, for emergencies EXPRESSLY. I gave her a card, but found out later on she'd killed the contents of the account in 2 days while I slept.

I start having to hide my wallet as I sleep. I try to take a handful of amphetamine pills from her one night - she's too high for any more, and she's small as it is.

She bites the web of my hand between thumb and forefinger, drawing blood and holding on for at least a minute. There is astonishing pain, but I kind of just looked at her the whole time, asking Why? Why? Why?

Just walk the dinosaur already

You're never too old for Adventure Time. Go read the greek myths, the Eddas, some books on tarot and gnosticism and rewatch it from a new perspective.

This would be the first of many increasingly insane events along similar lines. We've been living together the entire time. She has a part time job that all the money disappears from each week. Never a dime for gas or lights or whatevs. I check her place of employment. She IS working there when she says she is, so that must mean her paycheck is going up her nose. It's GOT to. I know what these people look like, how they move.

She wants to take MDMA together at one point and I eventually relent, procuring the material from a production client. Personally, MDMA is not for me. I get cynical AF 8/10 times on MDMA, so I don't bother with it. It's like "Adderall with Yawning" for me, I swear - but it also makes me very jaded, this realization comes to me always... That love is a chemical illusion, nothing more. Only our work matters - everything else is superfluous and muddled by brain chemistries.
And yet... "Look how easy it would be, just to accept the lie this pill is telling you." I'm never able to most times, and Hardly ever feel that "love" everyone else is feeling.

But I do it with her, and I go the distance. Get good shite, test it two ways, pay for it (of course), go get it in a car with NY plates (not cool in the south, I feel. I-95 is THE drug highway and it was like, right there next to us. NY to FL is what thousands of dealers do on the regular.

I construct a perfect set and setting for the evening, with scents and reefer and a play list and art books and video art on a flat screen. I play along. She's totally blown away by doing Molly. I am not. I'm actually kind of annoyed, the same way watching antifa rallies or reading vice pan a great video game for not being sensitive to "Gender fluid and Trans issues".

Annoyed, basically. But the next morning, She's still blabbing about her cosmic epiphany and I'm chugging Kratom like "Shut up FFS you idiot" repeating in my head.

OP wanted a story. This one is true. I don't tell it to 95% of people I know. It's a shitty story that ends bad. But it does consistently outdo itself in terms of sheer awfulness as time goes on.

Should I stop? I don't need or have any specific desire to continue.

keep going user i'm sick at home and smoking a cig, enjoying your story thus far.

It's cringey that you held or are still holding onto an obvious liberal junkie who won't be a good mom for your kids or a good housewife in the first place.

You should have let her fall way earlier.

You got it. Gimme ten minutes to have a cuppa tea and a puff, this is a shitty story that hurts to revisit.. but if you're feeling it, I'm oddly compelled to continue. I've gone into detail with trusted friends only, but doing so has let me drop some of the baggage tied to the whole event...

So yeah, I'll spill. Gimme 10.

>t. dude who never been in love and faced with a huge sunken investment, high hopes and genuine feels that are dashed repeatedly.

>t. half-a-fag who can't comprehend overlooking faults in the people you love because he's an emotional cripple

Feck off, call me a decade

If you'd traveled this road you'd have that "fuck her" attitude yet understand where and why I'm coming from.

Or maybe you're her. Or maybe you just don't GAF. Or maybe you hate me for some shit, I dunno.

I did, in the end... Learn that lesson you mentioned. It was hard, but a good lesson.

Teas reddy

You have nice eyebrows and not bad looking but is it the picture or does your face really look slanted like a rhombus

Nah, my reggo bag is a mlp:fim one, figured it was time to grow up

>I'd put 2+2 together sometime
2+2 is 4
minus 3 is 2 (quick math)

Dude, you need to do two things:
1. Understand that you're loving the ideal of having that qt gf you wanted and not the actual person you have as one. You need to see your SO as a really good friend before they can be an SO. Honesty comes before relationship legitimacy.

2. I'm sure you truly care for the girl, so tell her to get her life together. Give her some time in your life to do so, but understand that she's probably been this way for years before she knew you, and if she hasn't fixed herself in the time with you, that time with you isn't helping her. In other words, if she's not benefiting from you (in a moral sense), and you're not benefiting from her, then there's absolutely no point to your time together other than to not be in solitude.

you will actually look incredible with a shaved head, reminds me of daniel radcliffe in imperium

Dude, I'm totally over her, moved on, just cautious and different now. I'm so done with this chick. I actually felt it end at a distinct moment.

Just hearing the words "charlotte north carolina" actually fets my heart racing. Not because I miss her, but because she did some fucked up, fucked up shit that doesn't hurt me in the heart, just makes me feel stupid when I recall it. Hot shame and heat spreading out of my chest. You know what thats like.

I'm gonna continue in a minute.

it looks like your autistic son waiting for you in the car

Ok

So, after some time, she devolves from my live performance & roadtrip partner, confidante and general best friend into... Wel, like having a tenant in my home who don't pay rent or pick up after herself. She picks up after me, literally - after I leave some nights, Icome back and I can see it in her eyes. I would casually peruse my little box of personal shit - financial stuff, petty cash, meds (non-controlled substances were the only ones safe), keys, travel docs and so on.

And 7/10 times, I would come home after eating (she couldn't eat a lot of the time, too busy playing skyrim with dinner plate pupils for 4-6 days at a stretch. No embellishment.

No showering either. I could smell her, waking up in the morning to the battle cries of the 4 actors who seem to be responsible for for voicing the games 200+ characters in the living room. I would walk out, hoping she'd turned a corner and cleaned, cooked, arranged the vintage Helmut and Rick Owens Exploder shit I'd gotten for her. There were always new little garments I never remembered buying her. I knew she was stealing, but at this point I was so emotionally divorced that I was more disturbed by the way she treated vintage mainline Rick and Helmut and Junya like fucking H&M garbage.

OFC, H&M was all she had when we moved in together. That was one of the first things I changed. I didn't want to see my woman in that shit, let alone walk next to me in public and hold my hand while rocking poly blend shit shirts with crooked seams and shit stitching... none of the fabric cut on bias, just uggghhhh.

Whatever, I had to look at her too ya know.

On those Skyrim morning she would just stink, progressively worse with each day she sat glued to that couch. I remember turning the xbox off one time and demanding she shower, that the smell was just... unfair.

She was failing all her classes. She failed her driving test over and over, and I had to drive her places. I didn;t want her walking home at night, it's not safe and I should be there for her no matter what. That's just being a man, and I still feel that way. Had no feels attached.

She had been telling me about this time when she got hit by a car, spent a week inches from death. She shows me the news articles, the interviews online with her folks. Tells me about the way it hurts when she walks or the weather changes. She'd been only 14 when it happened. Her parents were legally illiterate and the girl who hit her in a fucking crosswalk was texting when it went down!

The interviews with her father crying about the possibility of losing her were heavy shit. He'd been principal in her school. Still is a principal. She was hit 100 feet from school, and it was her dad who held her broken body in his arms and cried as the ambulance roared to the scene.

She seemed to be in honest pain. She fell down in the shower multiple times, I had to get in there and pick her up. I decided, partly on her insistence, to install a bar for her to hold onto in the shower.

She was in pain, and although I was pretty shut off from her, I knew the medical bills had destroyed her parents financials. Their legal illiteracy left them with a $9000 settlement from the richest family in their zip code. It ought to have been several million and then some. Really.

So I started doing research on her problem and going back and forth with my pops and several high end doctors over the phone. I convinced her to get X-rays, and I sent those out to various docs. It turned out that she had a screw in her ankle that was installed at an improper angle, leading to stress on her bones via structural deficiency in the entire leg. I tracked down an elite specialist in Florida. I negotiated with my folks and killed some of my savings. I'd hooked her up with one of USA's best docs.

Hold on, lemme grab some popcorn

something great is happening in this thread guys
include me in the screencap

I planned on telling people I'm autistic if they were to say something to me negative.

Only person to say anything was in the locker room. Guy said, "dude that bag is dope huhuuuh. I took a pic of it, bruh." So at least I know people aren't grabbing their pitchforks

My gym bag
I know that feels lad
I keep playing the irony card if someone actually sees it and asks me why i use it

This doctor ended up running me and my senpai around 27 grand, not including travel and expenses. The guy had a very full schedule, and it was a long time before I could finagle a spare half day for the operation that would cure her of a pain so bad it left her crippled when the weather changed. I had it all set up, and I told her senpai no cost would be incurred by them.

All she had to do was call the guy and have a 15 minute convo re: the nature of her pain. And then we would be off, and I would be there with her at the hospital, and perhaps a shared struggle would reset things. Perhaps, I told myself.

She never called the guy. She lied about it, after blowing it off for weeks. I tried to convey the weight of what I had undergone for her, and how she could be free of that pain for the rest of her life. We'd gotten her a doctor used to treating CEO's and millionaires, who charged accordingly and had the skills to match. Literally among the top 3 nationwide. Very elite shit, private hospital shit. It was the greatest gift I could think to give her - I felt that if she got the leg fixed, she'd at least be a little happier, even if I wasn't around. She'd always have that gift.

She never called. Every time I tried to call her on it, she either blew it off or was too fucked up to reason with.

"Why, P? WTF is wrong with you?"

I'll tell you my problem. I don't like to give up on people. It's a personal hangup, maybe. I just feel that at the end of the day, all we have is each other. That's the most priceless thing, having a human connection. And so, I just don't give up on someone I care about, even if I'm sick of their shit.

My pops called me one morning, woke me up. "Why hasn't she returned his calls yet? We've already spent hundreds on consultations and tests!"

I just hung up. Walked into the living room. That skanky armpit sweat hit me like a punch. Skyrim and speed/coke/adderall. Again. It'd been four days. I tried to talk to her. It was a brick wall.

are you fucking retarded? you wore a novelty backpack, that does not qualify as a story. it's not embarrassing or weird or interesting in any way. this thread is though

this is what happens when you encourage an idiot to write. the whole world has to suffer. this isn't your community college's creative writing course; it's a conversation with other human beings. nobody wants to listen to you blather on endlessly. be a considerate, likable person for once in your life

I waved my hands in front of her face. Smelled the flop sweat, saw the glazed eyes, the twitch in her right arm, her eyes open wider than Mama Cass' fat fucking ass. Like broken window shades, perpetually rolled up to harsh morning light.

No response. Just Skyrim. "Fuck this. It's my Xbox, I play it a fucking fraction of this. She does nothing!"

"don't you have work?" I asked her. "It's been days." She blinked and turned her head to me. When she spoke her breath was fetid, like dead snakes in a jar. it wafted over my face while she explained in stops and starts that she'd been fired two weeks ago.

It was my Xbox, so I didn't feel that bad when I ripped it out the wall, took it to the back yard and shattered it into pieces for fifteen minutes with my boot heels and a steel bar. she was at the window, watching silently with those same wide eyes. Like she was puzzled, not sure what she was seeing. Of course, 4 days with no sleep will leave you pretty beaten down, mentally. She wasn't registering something.

At least until I got back inside. She was polishing off my last beer. I later found I was missing 4 of my Xanax and $20. I knew she wasn't killing my credit entirely on rakuten and mr. porter, so I took her HD outta her lappy while she was at some party (no doubt gagging on strangercocks, I thought) and hooked up to a direct USB to SATA link to my own computer. I dug out her internet history and the tor files she thought she'd deleted. Turns out she was a silk road regular, ordering all manner of ups from australia, europe and the Caribbean. Shipments of adderall, provigil, MDMA, research chems... I remember just closing my laptop and exhaling. Sitting still for five minutes and zoning before I got up to reassemble her comp.

It wasn't the drugs I minded, it was my credit cards being used, however indirectly, to commit international smuggling of a sort. I felt real violated. When she came home (drunk, duh) I was programming a late 90's sampler.

I was requesting stories to make us all feel better. I wasn't trying to play that off as a story, was just giving the circumstance for why I was requesting cringe tales

Encourage an idiot to write, huh? This isn't about you, asshat. But fuck this shit, why bother. You're fucking creepy. You follow me around this site and babble shit I would probably hurt you for saying IRL if you were the snot nosed little faggot I imagine you to be.

I'm out. You're not even trolling me, it's just, like, eehhhhhhhhhhh this faggot again

I'll tell you what. Post something you've done of some merit. Failing that, post a decent fit. Post any fit. Put your weak ass out there.

If you man up, I'll shut up. Serious, I will. Are you a bad enough dude to not write checks your ass can't cash?

Well then. Who's gonna win the flame wars? Bitter shitlord or internet badass?

My money is on shitlord, but pseudo seems committed enough to that story.

Nah, I'm either gonna shut up and leave - forever, if he impresses me with quality creative output - or just for a few days if he can man up with a decent fit. I'm giving him ten minutes from this post.

what a retarded meme
>trusting that puppet operating on mere chemistry to tell you anything about the nature of reality

Okay, it's been ten minutes. I knew that shit talker was an empty wind bag puss

Continuing in five, gotta regroup.

Empty little coward.

im invested in this story, please dont stop yet

It's a slight asymmetry of my face and the photo angle.

Not gonna stop, just recharging. Shit is tough to re-live. And Not because I "still feel for her".

Within a minute of getting back, she disappeared into the bathroom for way too long. Again. I got kinda pissed after I heard the SNIFFFFF through our mountainside home's paper thin walls a few times. I had paused my sampler, and I ripped my headphones off, supremely frustrated. I stood up, took a deep breath and popped the simple lock on the bathroom door with a screwdriver.

I found her hunched over the top of the toilet bowl, engaged in the obvious. I felt my teeth gritting as I saw the handful of pills on the side of the sink near the door. She turned around with a snap when I opened the door, made a second of eye contact and I saw her eyes flick down and to her right for a split second. I knew she was gonna make a grab for the pills (ritalin tonight, WTF???).
She bolted, but I was faster. I missed a few, they scattered to the floor.

"B_____, give those back to me RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" She reminded me of this abused rescue cat in the kennel where I used to volunteer. Poised, feral and invoking a plan of action she'd probably had in the back of her head when she first went in that bathroom.

I'm 6'4", and after I got the pills she lunged at me! I just raised up my left hand, out of her reach. "What the fuck are you doing? Every other night you're like this. What is so shit about your life you need to escape?"

he didn't answer at first - she fucking scratched me - nails digging into my neck and face. When this didn't change shit, she bit the underside of my arm near the shoulder, where the skin is softest. It fucking hurt so much - there are loads of nerves under there near the armpit and this chick was NOT gonna let go.

I was pretty pissed at this point, so the pain must have receded behind a wall of adrenalin after 30 seconds or so. I gently used the thumb of my other hand to push a piece of her cheek into the radius of her own bite.

I learned this working at that shelter where I saw the feral cat. It was what you did when bit by a dog.

"Let go, honey. You're not the one making choices right now." Slowly, she let go. I'd have a massive yellow bruise and a bite mark for 2 weeks. Looking up at me and my hand full of stimulants, her eyes were, like, BRIGHT. Flashing, as if they were reflecting a passing flame. She radiated immense anger and frustration. Compared to the pensive and rewarding peace I'd been immersed in while composing over the last 5 hours, this scene had me feeling like I'd been air dropped into some kind of live fire combat zone. Heart racing, genuinely afraid on some level because WTF do you do in that situation?

What I did was edge her out of my way and dump the pills into the toilet. I marveled at how many times I'd found myself in her position so many years back. I was an irresponsible shit head between 15-20, my life a hurricane of malt liquor, fights and late night foot chases on empty manhattan streets. I felt pity right then, but I pulled the flush handle down all the same.

Shit man, I thought she'd blown up just before. Shit, she wasn't even mad, by comparison. I caught a few shots in my throat and temple, some more scratches. Fed up, I picked her up, all struggling 100 pounds (probably 90 at that point) of her, and literally carried her to the bedroom. She cursed me the entire time. Before I left the bathroom I smashed the fallen pills under my boot.

Laying her down on the bed would have been futile without some promise of chemical escape, some valid reason to calm down. I took out the bottle of xanax in my hip pocket and shook out 3 MGs, a pretty decent dose for her weight range.

These were sublingual tablets, so She had to let them dissolve under her tongue. This meant she couldn't say shit - properly ingesting her drugs overrode her rage, too.

Sublingual Xannies take five minutes or less to dissolve, so I spoke quickly. I started with something like "I care about you, babe. I care about you." I paused a second - I wanted to hear the crickets outside .

okay, brb kids. need to look at my journals for timeline and shit. In the meantime, here are the liner notes for a CD I put out that contained a 36 minute instrumental opus (took me 2 years) that changed every other measure. Immense work load.
When I finally got rid of her, she just left all this shit in my apartment. Her journals and her laptop were amongst them. The journals were full of fucked up sketches, disturbing bits of prose and most notably - several suicide notes from different attempts she'd made in her low points.

I made all her shit into an album cover with collage and some of my own art.
It's @

kingscountylighthouse.bandcamp.com/album/less-than-zero

It's not really hip hop, but it's like hip hop, and it's SO lush and delicately intricate. I'm proud of it. I made pain into art.

it's normie (adventure time is absolutely unwatchable for me after i graduated HS) but I think it's cute. if you're attractive and wear it with confidence it's fine.
remember, no one really cares about you. you might occupy their minds for like 15 seconds, but then they'll go back to thinking of all the shit in THEIR lives that matters so much more than a kid in a BMO backpack

you would look good with a shaved head! but I do think your hair now is fine. you're attractive user, get a bit more confidence :^)

In that brief absence of screaming and cursing, hearing all those crickets, katyadids, and maybe even Cicadas reminded me of why I came here in the first place. I always knew she was a gamble, in some part of my heart. Truth be told, I'd decided to come down here from NYC so i could be someplace simple, quiet and unspoiled while I composed. I knew that my work would evolve in this place long before I came here. With my love affair falling apart, I produced 10-15 hours a day. I was essentially alone in that apartment because wether or not she was there mattered less and less every day.

Electronic music and turntablism gave me an ordered and beautiful place in which to retreat to when the absurdity of my situation became too great to bear.

This was bittersweet, tho - when I'd first came down, she would perform massively intricate 3 hour live sets with me at different venues, and for a while our act was watertight and choreographed to a T. She was actually super talented at live operation of multiple drum machines and synths, without ANY use of computers or MIDI. Our whole show was done by hand.
I'd always done this alone, and it is a maddeningly difficult performance. Not only did she halve my workload, but she understood the machines in a way I could not, even after decades of working with them.

She could intentionally glitch them out, by overloading the reverbs delays and FX loops until all the available buffer memory was eaten by these processes - leaving the machine to sputter out strange and beautiful sounds in time with the song's tempo.

She could not, however, compose her own songs or conceive of performing the ones we already had on deck in any other way than in the orders and arrangements I'd already defined as a baseline. She was a deft operator, undoubtedly. It saddened me to watch her give up on writing her own music. She wanted to, badly, but had underestimated the sheer challenge of doing so. After all, good musicians make it look easy.

>mid to late 2000's when skinny jeans were yuuge for emos and skaters.
>at the bus stop
>literal retard guy who smells like trash is waiting for the same bus
>my hair was pretty messy and i looked like a lesbian and somewhat feminine
>but i am a guy
>bus arrives
>retard guy pauses
>puts his arm forward gesturing me to get on before him
>says "Ladies First" like a true gentlemen
>I proceed to get on the bus like a bitch that i now am

first time i felt like a literal faggot, i stopped wearing skinny jeans from that point on

You let a downy define what garments you're allowed to wear without infringing upon your delicate masculinity? Really?

Don't do that. They're called retards for a reason: They take the shit people talk to them on a Yaktusk claymation enthusiast's shitty website determine the boundaries in which they deem their own desires as acceptable.

Veeky Forums - Fear & Autism

if you had a receding hairline when you were 13 you probably just have a bigger forehead but you look like somoene from the 60s now and that can be a good thing if you go for that but not if you want to go a modern look.

Thank you for the kind words but it's a torture trying to hide something daily that gets exposed by the wind nevertheless. I'd love my hair more without the blank spots but I think that the anons are right. It's maybe time to change something instead of keeping the same hairstyle I've got since I'm 15.

Well, I hope I gonna get a beard asap.

Fucking estrogen polluted water....

In the end humans aren't just about looks but also about character.

Yes. Most relatives and friends say that it looks slightly like the typical beatle haircut and I like the 60s without the whole hippie shit but I can't keep that hair forever and a HRT isn't an option since I'm sure that my head keeps balding leaving me behind with fucking horns.

That shit keeps my coinfidence down and therefore I think I could go for the avg. Slavcut. If I don't like it I can still let it regrow.

The balding was first noticed when I was 15 but the spots didn't change much as I see it.

I'll gonna miss the bangs and a well covered hairstyle but I can no longer stay for half an hour in the bathroom trying to fix unfixable shit.

It's maybe time to man up for me.

Finish this shit in an hour.

Feels good to get it out.

Just looked the example up.

Crap looks fire.

You are beautiful

Fucking liar die

I'm still here.
I'm honestly not sure what to take on next.
I will NOT leave this unfinished.

face is ok but literally anything would be better than that shitty hairstyle

post studio pls

>be me
>be too old to do shit like this
>want to look cool like the cool kids
>buy an obey snapback from urban outfitters
>go to a small house party of people i mostly dont know
>riding my skateboard to the party
>have baggy jeans on
>a super cheap black hoody with wolves on
>i look like peak 2003 cringe
>its like 2011
>some cunty school girl yells
"nice swag faggot"
>thats all it took to ruin me
>never turned up to the party
>went home and binned clothes

desu im glad that little cunt alerted me to what a faggot i looked like before all my friends and other people saw me

...

As I read I'm not sure what I feel. Numb seems to imply some sort of sadness but it's closer to apathy I suppose. My sister's schizophrenic and I know exactly how some of those experiences go. The way she reminded you of a feral cat, the way she writes notes to herself, the hospital stays, the little things you notice in the middle of a battlefield, like the crickets.

I remember vividly holding her arms against herself in a hug, to stop her from yelling at her longtime boyfriend, and noticing a moth floating lazily near a lightbulb. I don't know why but it seemed almost like a watcher of sorts to the absurdity. I'd see it on many, many occasions, though logically it couldn't have been the same moth.

She constantly looks for escape, and I've had to chase her down in the past. I feel like it should scare me how apathetic I'm growing towards her but I can't deny it either. I guess I'm just doing what I think I should as a brother more for her boyfriend (who I consider a brother to me) and her children and my mother in saving her from the brink of destruction.

It's just so tiresome, I hope I'm doing the right thing.

Anyway, it sounds like you're in a good place to be able to let this out in the first place. I'm glad you were able to separate yourself from her though I know it's not that simple.

>Vinylfag
Actually someone who's trying to be a dj instead of pretending it.

Are you the guy in the waywt thread with the killer eyebrows?

poor igor

didn't read it all, but fuck mate hope you're doing ok now and take it easy. Really all the best, you didn't deserve that and you seem like a good bloke.

If you mean him: yes.

Will you fight, or perish like a dog?

epic liar

So, I've got another 20 pages or so, but I have to finish up the part about her bringing two separate bedbug infestations to my home(prolly got dogged out on some grimy hipster curb-couch in a UNC dorm, lol), stealing my identity, draining my bank account, being dragged out of my apartment by cops on multiple occasions and attempting to delete EVERY song I've ever recorded in order to "Teach me a lesson" (how do into multiple backups?).

Then there's the transphobic year - she was militant, stenciling TERF & assorted anti-trans bullshit all over Raleigh on a pretty big scale - actually qualifying as a federal hate crime... BUT she's now identifying as 'gender fluid' or as a dude, eating puss and dressing like a stereotypical moviedyke. Her FB is fuckin' supa-cringe, full on mainlining the proverbial koolaid. She likes to flip back and forth on that shit.

I'm gonna drop the whole thing when I finish, might as well for those in the thread who asked me to continue, but I've actually got an opportunity to write a column with stories and memoirs in a respected underground paper 'round about here. Could easily lead upwards to better gigs, and I might drop this first once it's polished and properly anonymized.

Thanks for reading any of it. Sad part is that it gets SO MUCH worse... So much worse.

Happy part is that it's over and done with, I can take all these notes and journals and reassemble the chronology of it all... Then let it go.

Epic beta male or depressing NC art hoe with drug problem and on-site sperm bank

I know motherfuckers are gonna shit on me saying this, but fuck it.

That was the most heartfelt and sadly beautiful reply I've ever received. I'm seriously moved, not a joke to say I'm like... teary eyed with a strange feeling of relief?

I mean, you saw the same details I did, you understand this awful thing that I had given up on ever being able to fully explain to another person. The exhaustion of it, the wear and tear it puts on your soul. The little things you notice, on a battlefield?

And more than anything, the way you try so hard to help, despite it all. Holding your sis in a deep embrace, just so she stops taking swings at you long enough for the meds to kick in or the break to pass.

You're being torn in half, brother. I'm sorry you gotta walk this road. You're doing the right thing, tho, IMO.
That sense of obligation will haunt you (or at least it does me) if you don't at least try your best. From what I've been told of parenting it seems like there are a lot of emotional/situational intersections between raising a child and simply keeping a loved one safe on account they're burdened by some pretty heavy mental shit.

You try so hard and they're still slowly circling the drain.

Numb. Apathetic.

Yes.

>trusting your "chemicals" to tell you they're only chemicals

MUH CHEMICALS

gay

Nah, I trust a growing sense of 'self' as separate from my impulses - as well as a questioning & open mind - to tell me of such things.

fucking shave. i've been there. done it. 2

> be me 29 not a care in the world spent last 10 years saving up money for nothing
> firm hires dreamgirl.jpg intern on same floor
>> spend 80k reinventing wardrobe and image to impress dreamgirl.jpg that was obsessed with turn of the century chanel, she compliments my clothes, new hair cut etc.
> Ask her on a date after months of in office flirting
>> " oh no user im seeing blah blah blah and you're such a great guy "
> dejectedly mention it to other coworker who says its a broke bosnian that has a girlfriend or some shit that's not her and he only sees her once a month
>> I'm still in this
>> start buying her lavish gifts and leaving them in her office while thinking about 50 shades of my blue balls
>> dreamgirl.jpg pulls me aside and says im scaring her. Feel humiliated and tell her I was just trying to show her what life with someone whose not a poor mooch looks like and that I would treat her well and take care of her.
>> entire floor goes silent, realize how creepy I seem and take the day off
>> come back the next day to a pink slip

Turns out she was the owner of the firms daughter and I was basically the only person who didn't know. So yeah, I turned 80k into making a complete asshole of myself. I'm a Veeky Forumsilure. Still not sure why filthy rich bitch was wasting her time with a poor loser with a girlfriend but I guess when you sneeze the money I spent on rick you can do whatever you want.

You could have spun that into great success, ya know. I done it before, the key is humility, honesty and displays of reverence for the parents.

And researching the family ahead of time.

>Epic beta male or depressing NC art hoe with drug problem and on-site sperm bank
fuck you faggot i enjoyed the story and read all of it but now im not even going to read it if you are going to post it you fucking cunt

its a gym bag who cares

just shave it
but i know you wont because you need to keep thinking about it because you need an excuse to spam your mug
go to soc for that

talk about triggered lmao

what do you mean by programming a sampler

lol this

do it
post it

It's an electronic instrument for making beats from fragments of other sounds. Imagine a smal computer like this one, plugged into a record player, snapping bits of funk and soul from an enormous collection of 45's dating back to 1969.

When you have all the sounds you wanna work with, you program it. This is just another way ro say "Building arrangements and cleaning up samples".

>im not even going to read it if you are going to post it you fucking cunt

I love how you think that your decision to read or not read whatever I end up posting is going to somehow affect me or my choices in some way. Like, "Shit! we couldn't afford to lose chucklefuck! we needed his marketshare and thoughtful, in depth analysis of prevailing themes and use of foreshadowing!"

oh, I know what a sampler is, I was just wondering if by programming you meant sampling, editing/fx and sequencing or actually programming something as in writing code

With Elektron gear like this Octatrack, you kinda have to do a bit of everything. Especially the routing and effects chaining can be like OOP.

I'm not American and I don't know which show that is from, but it's a cool bag. It looks well made with the 3D buttons etc. Only the color is not my personal thing. If you can pull it off, why not?

It's from a children's tv show. Get a pickle rick tat while yer at it

Fuck I look a lot like this but with softer features and also have a big flat spot on the back of my head. That combined with a cowlick right in the center of it and perfectly straight hair got me bald spot teasing even as a child. I'm 24 and dont have mpb but hate the way it looks back there. In addition to the flat spot looking dumb, I'm skinny and look like a cancer patient when I have a buzz cut.

Yes. I'll definitely buzz but 1st I'll try some haircut that is a bit longer but still short.

Additionally to this my skull has been broken in early ages leaving a small peak behind on the back of my head.

>just shave it
I will but not yet. I don't want to go full auschwitz by now. 2-3 cm should be fine for the 1st start.
>but i know you wont because you need to keep thinking about it because you need an excuse to spam your mug
>>((((spam))))
Bruh I only postet sometimes in waywt- and face r8 threads.

I will but need to get a clipper 1st.